On March 24, 2010, my husband died. It will have been 5 years in a short time and I have desperately tried to come to grips with what being a widow means in terms of how to go on with my life alone. It is like trying to put back together the pieces of a shattered mirror, one that reflects what used to be. Those pieces will cut you and make you bleed if you aren't very careful, but you have to try to make the pieces fit, so that you can see yourself again.

My life has changed. I live in new city, one where there were no nightmare memories. I have a good job, doing something that I love. I have old friends, new friends, good friends. And of course, I have my family, that I love more that I can say.

My life has changed, but I have changed, too. I am not, nor will I ever be, the person I was before March 24th, 2010. I wish that those people I hold so dear could understand what this life is like but unless you have lived it, that is impossible. Others can think that they understand but no one can, really, because it is so very different for all of us. What I write about what I feel hoping that someday even I will understand.

So much pain...5 months gone


I used to look down that imaginary road toward my future and see nothing but a shining light at the end because Dave was walking beside me on that road, holding my hand. Now when I try to look into the future there is simply nothing there and try as I might, I can't conjure up any mental image of anything that looks remotely like something that might be called happiness. Maybe it is just too soon to feel any other way.  That is what I want to believe and that so that is what I will believe. Or at least, I will try to believe.

Yesterday marked five months since Dave died. Those five months will stretch into a year, that year will become five more and nothing will have changed. That is my biggest fear, I guess, that nothing will have changed. Dave taught me that "fear it the mind killer" (that came from one of our favorite movies) and he was right.  Most of the things I fear right now are in my head, things that I think about, not things that actually exist. He also taught me that the past is gone and the future hasn't happened yet, so live in the moment, the now. I know that he was right about those things but my "now" doesn't include him and it sucks and I don't want to live in it. Man, if he could see me wallowing in this grief he would be so pissed off.

Being this despondent is not in my nature. I am generally not given to bouts of depression or even extreme sadness.  I have always tried to be happy. Not the bubbly, smiley type of bliss that I think most people think of when they think of someone who is happy. Just not my style.  Happiness for me is a more serene state, one where I feel good about myself and others. It has never been necessary for me to have possessions to make me happy, although I believe that anybody who thinks that any object is the key to happiness is a little off kilter anyway.

Having someone in my life to love and to be loved by has been the key for me. Practical, down to earth me knows that nobody is responsible for my happiness but me. But romantic, love to be in love me wants somebody in her life. But not just anybody. She wants Dave and she would do anything under Heaven and Earth if it was possible to get him back here. Well, almost anything...I imagine there are several things I would not even consider, but you get my drift.

So, what do I do with all that. I have a group of other widow friends who offer a hand or shoulder when needed.  Some are newer at this than I and some are much farther down their roads.  No one has said that they are "over" their grief, only that they have learned to put it in a place where it is not so painful to deal with every day.  I guess there is some truth to the saying that "without the darkness we wouldn't appreciate the light" and so on. Maybe without the pain, we wouldn't cherish the love.  So much love brings so much pain.